George Gordon Noel Byron

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all read more

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
read more

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and
true religion.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and
true religion.

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, read more

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.

A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than
of expense.
[Lat., Non ampliter, sed munditer read more

A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than
of expense.
[Lat., Non ampliter, sed munditer convivium; plus salis quam
sumptus.]